And Then There Was Tomorrow
by kikis2
Summary: The N-JBC are dysfunctional parents in a broken world. B/N/S/C
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is a prologue, which you can totally skip if you like. You can figure it out along the way. **

_You're so brutal to those who love you, Scarlett. You take their love and hold it over their heads like a whip._

_-_ Margaret Mitchell

_In 2012 America suffered a depression, a depression like no other the country had ever faced before. And those lucky enough to get to their money before the Bank of America filed for a Chapter 7 soon found out how much their paper was worth when inflation rates started breaking graphs. _

The glitter lined streets of the Upper East Side were always tarnished, Serena had known this, but never would she have expected the glitter to disappear altogether. She had no idea that Old Money could default on their mortgages. She didn't know that entire buildings could carry a foreclosure banner.

Some fared better than others. The land rich—those who could pay their rates and taxes long enough to escape the worst of the downturn—would make it out with their Manet collection intact. And there was always those precious few who knew how to make a profit out of other's misfortune.

Serena might have been alright, if the Bass jet hadn't taken a header with her Lily and Rufus on board, or if Lily's accountants were half as useful as their Stanford degrees implied. But when faced with the distressing chance of a working-class future, Serena had done what all Rhodes women do.

She married up.

**E/N: I did my yearly re-watch of GWtW. So if it doesn't belong to Savage and Schwartz, it's probably the property of Margaret Mitchell.**


	2. Chapter 2

The screech of his phone had never been so loud. Five calls in two hours was a bit much, even for Blair. Nate was officially drunk, which was a good thing, because the bar fridge was dry.

Nathaniel hadn't wanted to talk to Blair, but there's something about a ringing phone that's impossible to ignore.

"Nate! Where've you been?"

The best way to hide inebriation is staying as quiet as possible. "Park."

Midnight had passed hours ago in Paris and it had to have been dark for ages in New York. Blair let it slide. If one thing had remained unchanged in the Upper East Side, it was that secrets never kept. Not for long. "I've got a surprise!" she gushed, not put off in the slightest by Nate's silence.

Nate winced. The last time he'd heard that phrase Blair was pregnant. Which wouldn't have been so bad except their country was collapsing, and more importantly, their lifestyle. And Serena, never one to be outdone, had married Tripp, out of spite, Nate was certain. Still, the six-month marriage had hurt Serena more than anyone else.

"I'm flying out in a couple hours! I'll be home tomorrow."

"Ts'good," he slurred.

Blair rolled her eyes. "Well, I hope you're in a better mood tomorrow. We'll do something nice."

Something _nice_? Nice was just girl-code for expensive.

Nate gave the apartment a quick once over. Too clean and Blair would be suspicious. Though wine glasses with Serena's lipstick stains on the edge wouldn't reassure a highly-strung wife—_ex-wife_ if he didn't do the dishes.

Lying didn't come naturally to Nate, and guilt sat heavily in his stomach, but some truths are just unnatural enough to seal the lips. This was one of them. He had failed as a husband, but the least he could do was prevent Blair from ever finding out.

**xoxo**

Serena brushed the tangles from her hair. When did something as simple as sleep become a hassle? The days of falling asleep in jeans and heels were long gone. Now a bath, teeth, face, hair all seemed to take longer.

"Vanity thy name is—"

Serena's eyes snapped to Chuck's reflection in her mirror. "Don't bother finishing that sentence—we both know who's clocked up more hours in the bathroom."

"That wasn't on account of my hair. I was busy deflowering your shower," he shot back easily.

"Then you were years too late."

Chuck ignored her words, his face as emotionless as usual. If Serena had ever cared enough, she would have realised the mask never reached his eyes. But she didn't, and so the oncoming storm went unnoticed and her husband was forgotten between the next strokes of her brush.

As a child, and even later, Serena had never paid much attention to her looks. They were there, they were good, and that was enough. But the gap separating her from thirty was closing with every breath, and the years between thirty and unattractiveness were unknowable. Unknowable and terrifying.

Maybe if she'd had something else…But always it was _fuck, you're hot_ or something indistinguishably similar. So an hour spent in front of the mirror didn't seem like a lot when faced with losing her only asset.

"How'd you spend your day?" Chuck smoothed his cuffs, never moving his eyes from Serena's mirror.

"Shopping. I bought a new watch." Serena snuck a glance at his face before quickly hurrying on, "Vintage Cartier—my mother would have loved it."

Chuck gave her a disbelieving smirk. "May I see it? I like to know what useless trinkets my hard-earned money procures."

Serena's eyes widened in alarm. Her arm fell to her side as she no longer bothered to keep up the pretence of brushing her hair.

"You're a horrible liar, S. And to bring Lily into your little games of deceit seems low, even for you." Serena had known the guilt he had for Lily's death. Her name was just a ploy to throw him off the scent.

She turned to glare at him hatefully. "After living with you for so many years who could possibly blame for sinking to your level?"

"It's no use. Jennifer stopped by my office today." He moved closer, reclining against her bed banister. "She told me all about your romantic afternoon with Nathaniel."

Serena brushed off any discomfort with a flick of her hair. "Her? Little J lies with every breath!"

He knew Jenny lied. "So you didn't spend all day secluded in Nate's apartment?"

"Why do you even listen to her? She's always hated me." Serena didn't bother to explain why, because it would seem even more incriminating.

"I guess I don't need to hear the words." Chuck smiled bitterly. "We had a deal Serena."

She hated to be reminded of how easily she'd been bought. "I haven't done anything. Yes, I went there, but it wasn't for _that_. He needed help with something. And we're friends."

"You're help? What could you possibly help him with? No, don't bother—I can guess. Blair's still visiting her mother. I suppose Archibald got lonely. And of course you were there. You usually are."

Chuck's lecherous sneer made her skin crawl. "Blair's my best friend, do you think I would—"

"Yeah, I do. I knew what you were when I married you, I just mistakenly believed the ring on your finger ensured I'd be your only trick."

With all her strength Serena threw her brush, hitting him squarely in the chest. "You're disgusting! Just because you know nothing but filth—"

Chuck snatched her arm, swinging her forcefully onto the bed. "Shut up," he hissed.

"Fine," she seethed. "Just get out. I can't—" She smiled wanly as her attention focused elsewhere. "Honey-boy, why do you always hide in the shadows like that?"

Chuck turned to see Hunter pressed into a hallway wall, evading the light.

"Come here, honey." Serena held out her arms. Her smile wavered as her son hesitated before reluctantly moving towards her, dragging his feet with every step. Stiffly he let Chuck muss his hair and his mother hug him before slinking off to stand by her dresser. He fingered her make-up, and creams, sneaking glances at his parents.

Chuck had had his doubts about his seven year old son. Bartholomew Hunter Bass was born eight months after a hasty marriage. Premature, Serena and her doctor had told him. How convenient. Two years later he'd done his best to avoid the child with brilliant golden hair, huge blue eyes and his wife's smile. _Nathaniel and Serena_, his mind had whispered, _fool_, _fool_, _fool_. But by Hunter's fourth birthday Chuck had known the truth. The sullen child, prone to tantrums and distrustful looks was not his best friend's son.

He watched as the boy spun from the dressing table, simultaneously knocking an antique bottle of perfume onto the hardwood floors. It smashed instantly. "Hunter!" Serena snapped. "Did you do that on purpose?"

Hunter just glared back at her balefully, refusing to answer.

Chuck wanted to yell at her. Hunter was simply an awkward child. Like he had been. Hunter disappeared down the hall. His nanny would probably find a room full of broken toys in the morning. Chuck would replace them before Serena found out.

Serena kneeled to clean the mess, the musky scent making her stomach churn uneasily. She didn't want to fight with Chuck anymore. One more ugly word and she wouldn't forgive him. Not this time.

Chuck shut the bedroom door. He didn't want to plead; he didn't even know if he wanted the truth. "If you aren't sleeping with Nate, just tell me why you were there."

Serena closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. "I'm going to sleep. Chuck. I don't care where you go, as long as it isn't near me."

**xoxo**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Changed the name of the kid, because someone kindly reminded me that there was already one unpleasant Marcus in GG. Kid shall now be known as Bartholomew Hunter Bass. **

**Warning: Totally mundane. But I kinda need a problem for there to be a story, so stick with it…It's **_**probably**_** going somewhere.**

Serena had looked desperately through her penthouse. Chuck had taken Hunter. For a few horrifying seconds she'd believed Chuck had really left her and taken their son. But only a few items were gone from their closets.

She should have married Nate when he asked her. She doubted Blair had ever come home just to check that her husband hadn't stolen her child and run off. A million curses flittered through her mind. She wished Chuck was here just so he could hear them. But if Chuck wanted to torment her, let him. She'd simply accept this as time free from the obligations of marriage and motherhood.

Abandoned by her husband for some fictional business meeting, Serena entered the Buckley's building the only way she knew how—head high, back straight, and eyes blazing. Jenny worked fast: if there was still a housewife in Manhattan who didn't know about her and Nate, there wouldn't be tomorrow.

She couldn't remember what artist the Buckley's were showing off this week, and there were no visible hints. Greeted with a sea of smug faces, she couldn't understand why she'd even bothered to come. Grabbing a glass of champagne from a nearby waiter, she searched for a dark corner.

"Serena!" Gracefully Blair hugged Serena, not letting either girl's drink spill.

Uncertain if the kind reception was for show or to humiliate her further later, Serena filled in the silence awkwardly. "How was your trip?"

"Fine," Blair replied briskly, refusing to tear up when Serena instinctively squeezed her arm in sympathy. "Awful," she admitted quietly. "But we'll talk later." This was a party, and she would smile perfectly and not one of these impoverished bluebloods would know how badly her family had fared.

P.J. and his wife, Charlotte, came over to greet Serena. P.J. looked from Blair to Serena, an unpleasant smirk forming. "I heard about Chuck's New Delhi deal! What a pity he couldn't make it tonight." He barely managed to conceal his sarcasm.

"When can we expect him back, Serena? It's hardly a party without Bass," Charlotte added.

Stunned, Serena searched frantically for any information about Chuck doing business in India. She hadn't even known he was leaving the country. P.J., and probably everyone else in the room, thought Chuck had left her. Maybe he had, but she'd have to think about that later. She wished she'd paid even the slightest attention to Chuck's business talk.

"He'll be back in no time," Blair quickly cut in. "Pre-fab mini mansions practically build themselves, _you_ should know that," she inserted, referring to their Long Beach home. Her grin was almost feral. The Buckley's may still have their millions—ex-super powers still needed oil—but anyone could see Charlotte would be more at home in Daisy Dukes, pumping gas. Trashy southerners without the sense to know their betters did not get to spit darts.

Out on the balcony, Serena could finally breathe. Longingly, she looked out onto the busy streets. She wished she could escape—her thoughts drifted to a nearby bar, but her champagne remained untouched. "B, what everyone's saying—"

Blair laughed lightly. She turned, leaning her hip against the rail. "You'd think by now they'd have something better to talk about than us. Well…Not really. Of course we're the most interesting thing in this town." She continued when Serena's face remained tense, "Anyone who believes that talk is a fool. And Jenny's the biggest fool of all—thinking she could start trouble. By the end of the season, I'll see that Little J can't even get into a salon."

Blair's words fell like slaps and Serena's face remained frozen. It had taken just a few sentences from a step-sister, who had done nothing but try to get her talons into Nate for years, and Chuck had called her whore then fled the country. And Blair could laugh, laugh like the very idea of Nate cheating on her was absurd. A jagged edge of jealousy tore through her body. Blair _could_ trust Nate; Serena had wanted him for years and never gotten more than the occasional wondering look and one sloppy, drunken kiss under the mistletoe.

Distantly she realised she'd let the silence go on for too long and Blair was starting to look worried. "So, how's Eleanor?"

Waldorf Designs had fallen early in the recession, and after working for Givenchy Eleanor had been trying to get her own house running again. Without much success, according to Blair.

Serena knew exactly how badly the Waldorf's needed this business. Never could she find the right words in these situations. No one had taught her what to say; no one had thought she'd ever need to know. Chuck had laughed at her after she admitted her surprise when even high society WASPs started losing their jobs. _You can't see what's two feet in front of you unless it has a designer lable_.

** xoxo **

She ended up on the Lower East Side, knocking until a familiar face answered.

He opened the door shirtless, bronze hair sleep tussled. As quickly as she could remove him from her mind, he came roaring back. Her heart beat a little faster, and she pictured what it would be like to wrap her arms around him. Her stupid body had never learnt that he couldn't make her happy—just comfortable. She pushed past him easily.

Slightly tilted cerulean eyes blinked at her sleepily. "S? Do you know what time it is?" he asked, trying to read the kitchen clock, more confused than annoyed. It was after three a.m. as she perched on his lounge to cross her legs casually . "Drink?" He ran an absentminded hand through his hair when Serena just shrugged.

"You called me, Tripp," Serena reminded him.

"Tomorrow would have sufficed," he muttered. He abandoned sleep and that line of thought—Serena had never been one to listen to good reason. He made coffee, if Serena wanted something stronger she could make it herself. Without preamble he sifted a heavy stack of papers from his briefcase and threw them onto the coffee table in front of Serena.

Collapsing on the other side of the lounge, he examined her carefully as she flicked through the top pages. They'd been married for close to two years, but she was still a hard read. A small flicker of her eyes was the only hint of displeasure.

"What's this?" she asked feigning boredom and tossing the papers aside carelessly.

He wasn't buying it. "You should know—your names littered throughout."

"Whatever you're implying, you better just say it. I'm not interested in games." Her eyelashes lowered till she could watch him intently, hoping to make him uncomfortable.

"You playing games? Never," he replied cynically. "And I'm not implying anything. I'm plainly telling you that I know you signed over Bass assets to Nate and I know why."

"And I suppose you just stumbled over these?" she asked.

"They were delivered to me by accident via my solicitor, or should I say the van der Bilt solicitor?"

"Nate used the family lawyer?" she asked in a small voice.

"Sorry, darling." Serena looked dejected enough that he did _almost_ feel sorry. "Next time you try to steal money from your husband to pay for your lover's political campaign, you probably shouldn't let Nate play any part in it." The words were cruel, and he'd never wanted to be like that to her, but he felt cruel. His little cousin would be running against him in the upcoming campaigns. Maybe it was for the lower house, not the upper, but it was for the opposing party, which was almost as bad.

And his ex-wife would be at Nate's side.

Always she'd chosen Nate.

He had been runner-up in his own marriage and soon he'd be runner-up in his career.

"He's not my lover and I didn't _steal_ it. I inherited mom's share of Bass Industries," she defended passionlessly.

"He'll be running for the Dems when I still have years to serve on the Senate. Grandfather is going to—"

"Grandfather abandoned Nate years ago!" Serena snapped, falling into the old argument thoughtlessly. She should know—she'd been a van der Bilt once. She glared at those pages she and Nate had spent hours poring over. Hadn't they caused enough trouble? Serena let her head drop into her palms. "It doesn't make sense….even if Nate did use—" Slowly she lifted her head, tilting it to contemplate Tripp. "Someone's set us up."

Tripp thought it over. Sensitive papers didn't just land in the hands of opposing party members. It was all too convenient. "Probably," he agreed. "What about Chuck?"

"I used mom's lawyer. Chuck's are all slimy and wouldn't wait for the door to shut behind me before running to their master." She curled up on the lounge, burying her head in Tripp's lap.

"Got any enemies?" He asked, trying not to feel even slightly moved by her.

Serena's laugh was muffled through Tripp's cotton pyjama pants. _Too many to count_. Tripp smelt of green tea and lemongrass—the same soap she had once bought for him. Tripp's hand, without his consent, ran lightly over silky blonde hair and Serena's eyes fluttered shut.

How long had it been since someone's touch had made her feel safe? She, Serena Bass, was touch starved and that was just one more thing she'd never seen coming.

Tripp sighed. She shouldn't be doing this to him. She shouldn't be able to. He should turn those papers over to Chuck and watch as Nate's funding got ripped out from under him. He clutched the pages tightly in his other hand. Maybe there was no hope for his marriage, but he could at least see that Serena didn't lose another husband to her infatuation with his baby cousin.

His attention was caught when she clutched at the fabric of his pants. "I miss you," she said, looking up at him through hooded eyes.

He tensed. "I've missed you too, darling. But whatever's going through that pretty head of yours is a very bad idea." No, he'd never really understand Serena, but he did know her.

"You know what?" she asked, turning to lay on her back.

"What?"

"Whoever's playing with us didn't know one thing." She gave her first real, shining smile in days. "_We're friends_."

And he folded the pages, sliding them into her grasp. He'd never really had another choice. "Another Democratic year for Manhattan," he mumbled darkly.

Serena shrugged. "I don't vote."

Tripp smiled bitterly. "Not even for Nate?"

She stretched out leisurely, before nuzzling back into Tripp's lap, limbs heavy with sleep. "Nope."


End file.
